Midnight Enlightenment
by Ariadne96
Summary: Even in war, the magic of Christmas still prevails.  A midnight vigil shines light on those from the past, illuminates paths for those navigating the present, and provides a beacon of light that guides two lost souls towards the future. HGSS. One-Shot.


Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the plot. The rest, including lovely Severus, belongs to JK Rowling (although I'd be happy to take him off her hands anytime.)

A/N: I wrote this story as a response to a challenge set forth by a friend. The rules were to write a Christmas-themed one-shot in the fandom of my choice within two days. I hope you all enjoy what I came up with, and please read and review! (Your thoughts feed my plot bunnies!)

* * *

_ Christmas eve. _The words seemed to float through the expanse of Hermione Granger's mind as she attempted to sleep through the snores of various Order members and groans of ghastly portraits echoing throughout the halls of Grimmuald Place. The idea of a holiday celebrating family and hope, among other things, seemed ironic given the Second War hovering imminently in spite of all efforts to counter it.

Attempting to ignore her overactive mind, rationalizing that dwelling on things that could not be changed was a futile endeavor, Hermione shifted onto her side and recast a cushioning charm as an effort to comfort her aching joints as best she could given the moth-bitten, metal coiled mattress she was offered. Space was limited, as were supplies, as the latest strike by Death Eaters (taking out Mad Eye and a few other key members) left every member of the Order not on active duty confined to headquarters in hiding.

Newly inducted to the Order, Hermione found adjusting to life at Grimmuald difficult. She had come prepared to fight, to avenge the deaths of her friends and family that caused her to spend her first Christmas alone. Instead, she found herself acting more or less as a teacher on McGonagall's claim that her "youth and vast knowledge as an Auror could be used as a means of counseling and training the less experienced members in the rarer defensive spells." She huffed into her pillow and flipped onto her stomach: she was not thrilled about being a "tutor." She had done enough of that with Harry and Ron already.

The only enjoyable aspect of her new profession so far seemed to be Teddy. As the only other twenty-something female in the house in addition to Tonks, Hermione had now become an "Auntie" to the Auror's toddler. While Tonks and Remus were out on patrols, it had become her job to watch over the youngster. Most times the little tyke was a good sport; between the games of "Decorating 'Mione's Hair" (whose shoulder length and bush-like texture was apparently ideal for pulling and sticking foreign material into), feedings, and naptimes, Teddy was a relatively low-maintenance child.

However, tonight was an exception.

As the old, untuned grandfather clock downstairs chimed midnight in its discordant tones, Teddy began to stir and grumble on his little bed, which was transfigured from a futon. As his moans turned into small cries, the groans of her roommates forced Hermione to take the child downstairs in an attempt to find out what was wrong. Lifting the toddler up and balancing him on her hip, she descended the stairs and walked past the various rooms until his cries stopped as she crossed the door to the kitchen.

_Aha. _

Grabbing a shortbread cookie from Molly's pile of sentient Christmas treats and filling a small cup with milk (charmed to avoid spilling, luckily), Hermione handed them to the toddler's chubby outstretched hands. Now munching happily on the corner of a reindeer's ear (whose expression shifted from a smile to abject horror), Teddy seemed content. Amused, Hermione reflected on her first experience with enchanted food as a muggleborn: she was horrified, convinced that she had caused the chocolate frog pain as it attempted to escape her grasp, headless. Teddy ejected Hermione from her reverie as his tiny hand sought hers and began dragging her to the common room. After he clambered up onto the couch and planted himself firmly between the various cushions covering the ragged leather upholstery, he proclaimed, "Christmas story!" in his best attempt at a stern face. Hermione smiled and launched into lecture-mode, describing the story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer until she noted, with a sad smile, he had fallen asleep not five minutes into the tale.

Rising from the couch, she planted her hands on her hips and glanced around the dismal room. No tree lay in sight. No lights decorated the windows. No stockings graced the fireplace. The notion of a holiday seemed nonexistent considering the state of the desolate room. It was no wonder that, amidst more pressing dangers, many had simply forgotten the occasion or chose to ignore the concept that Christmas would occur, same as always, during the War. It seemed impossible that something so beautiful could coexist with the ongoing genocide raging in the magical world. Perhaps Christmas was indeed simply an idea to be contained within the little crystal domes muggles used to "contain snow," as Ron had said.

An idea suddenly sprang to Hermione's mind. Maybe she could bring a little cheer to those imprisoned within Grimmuald after all. She refused to let Voldemort become the Grinch that stole Christmas.

Levitating a wilting houseplant from the sill of the grimy bay window facing the dismal backyard, Hermione placed it at the juncture between the window and the fireplace, in front of the mahogany bookshelf (one of the few salvageable and more decorative pieces remaining from the squandered Black fortune). She transfigured it into a full evergreen and conjured a bowl of water for the base to rest in. Now all that was left were the decorations.

Decorative tree lights were out of the question, as electricity was a forbidden concept within the confines of the _"Toujours pur"_ motto of the Black family; no muggle technology would taint their "haven". Tapping her finger against her chin, Hermione scanned the décor of the room for ideas, settling on two items.

_"Wingardium Leviosa," _she whispered and swish-and-flicked her wand towards any unlit candelabras aligning the walls and candlesticks resting on the tabletops. She couldn't suppress a smirk as she reflected on the significance of the simple spell that had inflicted Ron's wrath. That fateful day in Charms class he invented her "know-it-all" nickname in retaliation for his embarrassment. The candles floated towards the tree and began resting on tiny silver plates tied onto various branches. Glancing around the rest of the room, Hermione felt that something was still missing. The tree was beautiful, but impersonal. It needed something more…sentimental.

Her eyes scanned the room and fell upon one wall, decorated with photos of members lost or killed in action as a makeshift memorial. Striding over to the pictures, some moving, some still (depending on whether the camera was muggle or magic), Hermione felt that this was exactly what the tree needed. What better way to bring _everyone_ together.

Swishing her wand once more, the photos disengaged themselves from the wall and floated to a respective candle. Lighting each votive (and casting a fireproofing spell), Hermione said a prayer for the memories of those in the photos. Few on the Light were left, and hope was flickering out with each passing day. Now the memories of those lost would be forever illuminated.

A sudden _thump_ of the front door brought her out of her trance and awoke Teddy.

"Santa Claus?" he mumbled, little fists rubbing his eyes to fully awaken.

"Shhh…" Hermione whispered as she came over and gathered the toddler into her arms, rubbing his back in an attempt to get him to go back to sleep. Whoever it was, she didn't want Teddy seeing him or her. These days, there was no telling what kind of condition Order members would come back in. More than once she had to cast a _scourgify_ to rid the wooden floor of residual blood missed by others who had to clean up the messes.

Teddy's slowing breaths signaled his return to slumber, and soon they ascended the stairs. Placing him onto his little mattress, Hermione shut the door as quietly as possible and returned to the first floor to finish cleaning up the dishes. She didn't see whoever had entered, and assumed that he or she had already gone to their quarters while she was tucking Teddy into bed.

After placing the dishes into the sink and charming the sponge and water to clean them off, Hermione returned to the tree. The room had gotten significantly darker; someone had charmed the overhead chandeliers and the fireplace to a dimmer level so that the tree's candles shone more prominently. Not noticing anyone else in the room, she turned to light the candles when she saw the telltale sign of a mask discarded haphazardly to the corner of the room.

So, he had returned alive then.

Hermione let out a breath she unknowingly held. She had tried to quell her rising concern for her ex-Professor over the course of the past few months; she knew that everyone's life was at stake and that investing more concern in a person who might perish the next day was a liability to Order operations. Harry and Sirius at the Department of Mysteries was proof of that. However, despite every action she took in her devotion to the Order's logic, her emotions constantly seemed to follow an ulterior motive, one that called for befriending the man whose loneliness was key to manipulating his thoughts and actions.

She sighed in frustration at the situation her Gryffindor "must-be-savior" mentality thrust her into. Friendships were complicated during these times, and Severus Snape was a man who had many associates, few confidants, and no _living_ person he considered his partner. Hermione glanced up at the tree. She knew where his heart lay: currently at the middle of the evergreen. As her eyes rose to the upper branches of the tree, she observed the photo of a twenty-one-year-old Lily Potter smiling prettily at the camera and twirling about in the autumn leaves.

Hermione realized that she would always be eclipsed by the shadow of a woman twenty years dead.

She shook her head, a few curls escaping the confines of her braid, and continued to light every candle except Lily's: _let her memory be ignited by someone who consistently held a candlelight vigil for her within his own iron clad heart_.

Another muffled sound of footsteps alerted Hermione to the fact that she was most definitely not alone in the room. Somewhere, ensconced in the dark corners of the chamber, she imagined Snape sitting disillusioned, too proud and unwilling to reveal himself.

Smirking, Hermione realized she had one last Christmas tradition to complete before she could return to attempting at slumber. Striding to the liquor cabinet, she pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Finest and a chipped crystal glass, setting them down on a stool beside the tree. Waving her wand in the direction of the kitchen, she whispered a summoning leftovers of the prior meal (a bowl of chicken broth, a meager piece of bread, and a baked potato) soon emerged from the doors and landed on the stool next to the firewhiskey. Another spell warmed the food, causing a pleasant odor to waft through the room.

While it was not milk and cookies, it was certainly most palatable for her Saint Nicholas.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione awoke to the murmurs of excitement of various Order members who had awoken before her and discovered the tree below, their exclamations drifting through the thin walls to her upstairs room. Glancing around, Hermione realized that her roommates (and Teddy) had already been awoken and most likely were downstairs at breakfast.

Stretching her joints and muscles, which popped audibly to her dismay, Hermione rolled onto her side and pushed herself up from her mattress. In the process of sitting up, she felt a piece of parchment crumple and fall to the floor. Bending over and picking it up, she examined the exterior for an address or a seal, finding nothing. Sliding her finger beneath the flap sealing the missive shut, Hermione examined the spidery handwriting that had appeared:

_Always a know-it-all. _

A strange and long-forgotten sensation overcame her: she laughed. This was about as close to a thank you as she would probably ever get, but it was by far one of the best gifts she had ever received.

A Merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
